


Hard To Break

by little_whittles



Series: Remember Me [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Foreplay, Frottage, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_whittles/pseuds/little_whittles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Steve has his memory wiped by HYDRA, Bucky tries to help him recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard To Break

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be the last part but then I decided I'm not done with these a-holes yet ahaha. Some sexy stuff happens but more sexy stuff will happen in the next part I swear!

He - (Steve, he reminds himself. Steve Rogers. That’s what they’d told him his name was. Captain Steve Rogers) can hear the man (Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes) on the phone in the hallway outside his hospital room. He’s talking to someone named Natasha, who must be a mutual friend of theirs. 

“No, he doesn’t remember anything. I mean, nothing about his life.” Pause. “I haven’t told him much yet. I was hoping you could come.” Pause. A long sigh, it sounds shaky. “Thank you, Natasha.”

Bucky comes back into the room and sits beside Steve’s bed again. He looks completely wrung out, tired and miserable. Steve supposes that’s what one looks like when their best friend has total amnesia.

“I want to know what happened, how this happened to me,” Steve says. Bucky hasn’t told him anything yet. Said he should wait. For what, Steve has no idea. He’s starting to get restless, maybe a little panicky. Why won’t anyone tell him anything?

The doctor had said to go slow, and he gets that. They don’t want to overwhelm him. It seems, though, that they’re being extra cautious. There are armed guards outside of his room. Steve doesn’t know if they’re to keep him in or others out. Maybe both.

“I know. I’m sorry, they told me - I should wait, we should wait. Natasha will be here soon-“

“Who’s Natasha?”

“A… friend. Coworker. She’ll know what to do.”

This puzzles him. Aren’t there already protocols for this type of thing? Other people have lost their memory before. He’s getting a little irritated, squeezes the call nurse button tightly. It crumbles, bits of plastic digging into his palm, gouging the skin.

“Oh shit, Stevie,” Bucky says quietly, taking the pieces out of his hand. There’s a little blood, very little, and when Bucky wipes it away with a moist paper towel from the container over the sink, there are no marks left behind. No marks. Blood, but… no wounds?

“What the hell?” he asks, fear heavy in his voice. What is he? How can this be? He sits up, ready to flee. Why are they lying to him, keeping him here? He feels threatened, the guards are there to keep him in, he has to get out of here, he-

“Please, Jesus Christ, don’t!” Bucky begs desperately. It stops him cold, guilt blooming so quickly and sharply it makes it hard to breathe.

“Tell me,” he says instead, trying to steady himself.

Bucky’s shoulders drop in resignation and he grabs something off the table in the corner. A tablet. Steve knows what that is. Why does he know some things, but nothing about himself? It must be a specific type of amnesia, but the doctor hasn’t confirmed anything yet, seems unsure of what the diagnosis is. Bucky hands the tablet to Steve.

“Captain America: A History of The First Avenger,” he reads. It’s an e-book. The picture on the cover… is of him, wearing some type of patriotic jumpsuit. “Is this a joke?”

It’s obvious that no, it is not a joke, because Bucky looks like he might be sick. Steve wishes he knew why every time Bucky is distressed, it guts him. Best friends, Bucky had said. Makes sense, but his reactions to Bucky’s pain are so visceral, it scares him.

“Just read it. Nat’s gonna kill me, for going ahead with this before she’s here. Promise me you won’t freak out and bail, okay?”

Steve looks him over, his vivid unease, and nods. He trusts Bucky. He’s not sure that’s a good idea or not.

He can read at a fast pace, and in a few hours, has finished the book. He stares at the tablet, and waits to wake up from whatever dream this is. July 4th, 1918. Brooklyn. Super soldier. Nazis. Plane crash. 70 years pass. Avengers. Battle of New York.

“This is a science fiction novel,” he says numbly. He clears his throat, it’s hoarse from not speaking as he’s read.

Bucky stirs from his thoughts, having been silent they entire time Steve’s been reading. “Science, yeah. Fiction? Well, I think you know the answer to that.” He nods at Steve’s completely healed hand.

“So what about you? After the train, there’s nothing.”

Bucky snorts, but it’s humorless. Steve doesn’t understand. “That’s a whole other story. Not sure you’re up for that quite yet.”

Steve wants to argue, but he’s mentally exhausted from everything he’s just read, what he’s trying to comprehend. “What about why can’t I remember?”

“I don’t think-“

“Please, just tell me,” Steve implores. He can physically see Bucky giving in. It makes him feel weird, like he’s cheating or something. Like he can manipulate this man. The man with the metal arm he won’t talk about yet.

“You were on a mission, got captured. Enemy wiped you.”

“Wiped me?” He knows what Bucky means, but asks anyway.

“Your memory. They were going to make you a weapon.”

“How do you know that?”

Bucky looks crushed. “Because they did it to me.”

Steve feels exactly how Bucky looks. Worn down, hollowed out. “Did they do that, too?” He’s looking at the arm. Bucky self consciously pulls the metal closer to his body but nods. “You got your memory back, though. Do you think that means I will, too?”

Bucky looks nervous to answer, like being wrong might ruin him. “I hope so. You should rest, before Natasha gets here.”

“You should rest, don’t think you’ve slept in days by the look of it.”

Bucky actually smiles, sadly and fondly. “Don’t wanna leave you here alone.”

Steve isn’t completely sure why he does it, but he shoves over to one side of the hospital bed, against the railing. “Here.”

“I - I can’t, I shouldn’t. You don’t even know me,” Bucky mumbles, anxiety apparent.

“I won’t sleep if you don’t,” he answers.

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Still remember to be stubborn, that’s for sure.”

Steve waits patiently for Bucky, this man he doesn’t know but somehow can’t forget, to climb into the bed next to him. Bucky’s very careful not to make any physical contact, staying as far to the side as possible. Steve doesn’t push, because he’s not completely sure what he’s doing, or why. He feels better though, with Bucky here. Familiar and safer. He closes his eyes and lets the crippling exhaustion take over, falling asleep quickly.

His dreams are fragmented, nothing he can really firmly recognize. A spare key under a brick. Couch cushions. Pencil sketches. Bloody knuckles. Seeing Bucky from a different angle.

When he wakes up, he can hear whispered conversation. Bucky is still in the bed, but with his back to Steve. He’s talking to someone on the chair, and Steve peers over him to get a look. A woman, pretty, red hair and green eyes. She catches him looking immediately.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Natasha?” he guesses.

She smiles and nods. Bucky gets out of the bed, seeming simultaneously relieved and disappointed. 

“Bucky tells me you’ve been doing your homework.”

Steve sits up. “Yeah. Kind of a lot to take in.”

“I’d imagine so. Anything you remember?”

Steve frowns. For some reason, there are a few of those dream images he wants to keep for himself. The ones about Bucky. He doesn’t know why. “A key under a brick. Art supplies.”

Bucky lights up at this, and Steve reconsiders sharing the other memories, but decides not to. “That was your spare key, to your mom’s place. You always forgot yours.”

“And I used to draw?”

Bucky nods enthusiastically. “You were great, Steve. Even made money that way, before the war.”

“Maybe we can get you some paper, pencils. Might help with the memory,” Natasha suggests. Bucky looks happier than he has since Steve woke up, and that must mean something. She must be right.

“Yeah, okay. So. When can I get out of here?”

Bucky and Natasha exchange a look, and a silent battle ensues, with lots of eyebrow raising and frowning. Finally, she sighs in frustration. “I thought it was a good idea for you to stay a few more days. Make sure everything was okay. But someone else is of the opinion that he can be just as helpful if you guys go home.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“We share a place?” Steve asks, looking at Bucky. 

He looks away. “Uh, yeah. Roommates. You took me in after… well, that’s a story for later.”

Whatever they enemy had done to Bucky, he was very hesitant to share it with Steve. He would eventually, Steve was sure. At first, Steve had thought maybe they had been… no, best friends. That was all.

“I want to go home,” Steve tells Natasha. 

She looks like she’s dealing with irritating children, but shrugs. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t be stopping by to check in on you two.”

Steve is relieved he’ll be out of the hospital soon, although the idea of going home with someone he can’t quiet remember, a home he doesn’t know, if slightly terrifying. Can’t be any worse than this, though, feeling like a prisoner instead of the hero they kept telling him he is.

~

The next morning, after he’s discharged, Natasha drives them to Steve and Bucky’s apartment. He lives in DC now, not Brooklyn. He’d been in Colorado when he was captured. They’d airlifted him, after Bucky rescued him. He wants to know more about this, but they won’t tell him yet. Natasha fills him in on SHIELD a bit, what work he was doing, the HYDRA bases.

It’s a lot. He gets tired easily, from trying to learn it all. But he won’t stop asking questions. He needs to fill in the gaps, find something that jogs his memory, he needs his life back.

Natasha walks them up to their apartment. “All right, I’ll come by in a few days to check in.” She squeezes Bucky’s arm gently, giving him a look Steve reads as sympathetic. “Take care. Just… go slow. You have time. Good luck,” she says to Steve.

Bucky closes the door behind them and clears his throat. “Well, this is our place. Well, your place. You were just letting me stay, I should probably eventually get a place of my own.” He’s nervous, rambling. “Your room is upstairs. Are you hungry? I can make something, if you’re hungry.”

“Pancakes,” Steve says. He doesn’t know why, but that’s the first thing that comes to mind. He likes pancakes. He remembers that. It’s trivial, but gives him a tiny glimmer of hope. 

Bucky looks elated by it, too, so he feels less foolish. “Pancakes? Yeah, I can… kind of a specialty of mine, really.” He’s blushing a little, and Steve isn’t sure why. It’s cute, though.

“Do you mind if I…?” Steve gestures to the stairs. “I could use a real shower. Unless you need help?”

Bucky shakes his head quickly. “Nah, I got this. You settle in.”

Steve is grateful for that, to get a few seconds alone. He hasn’t had any time to himself since he woke up. He doesn’t blame his friends, not one bit, he just needs a minute or two. He takes the bag of art supplies Natasha had given him up to his room.

It’s nice, kind of fancier than he thinks he might like. Large windows, lots of light. Everything is tidy, military habit he assumes. Lots of books. He puts the bag down on his bed and goes to the bathroom, starts the shower. He leaves his dirty clothes on the floor, something he feels is a rebellion of his real self, but it feels strangely rewarding. He thinks maybe his normal self needs to lighten up a bit, although it sounds like that’s never been an option.

Steve showers and puts on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. It’s comfortable, and he likes that. He feels weirdly restricted, but he doesn’t know why. He heads downstairs to the kitchen.

Bucky has the largest stack of pancakes he can imagine on a plate next to the stove, and is making more. “Wow. That is a shit load of pancakes.”

Bucky’s laugh is surprised. “Yeah, well. We tend to eat a lot. Super soldiers and all.” Steve sits down and Bucky puts a few pancakes on his plate. “I can get you something else, or-“

Steve waves him off. “This is good. Sit down and eat though, okay? I feel like I’m a guest in my own house, although that’s probably accurate. I want you to tell me something.”

Bucky looks hesitant but does as Steve asks. “Okay. what did you want to know?”

“About Colorado. Why was I alone? You said I have a team, where were they?”

Bucky shakes his head. “You… you went alone. You didn’t tell anyone.”

Steve frowns. “Oh. Why?” 

“I think you were looking for me.” Guilt. 

“Why was I looking for you?” Why would Bucky have been away from the team?

“I had left. For a while.” Vague. Something he doesn’t want to talk about. Steve lets it go for now.

“But you found me?”

“I was in Colorado. You guessed that’s where I would be, and you were right. I hadn’t found the base yet. I was there to destroy it, same as you.”

“Because of what they’d done to you?” Steve asks. He doesn’t know the extent of what that means, but he knows it was bad. Very bad.

Bucky nods. “Yeah. I don’t know how long you were there before I got in. But I was able to get you out.”

“How?”

Bucky puts his fork down, looking a little queasy. “I - there weren’t that many, I was able to neutralize-“

“Neutralize?”

“I killed them. All of them,” he admits quietly.

He killed. He killed people, multiple, to save Steve. Was that normal for them? Is that what they did? Kill people? Was he a murderer? Bucky seems remorseful for having done it, it must have been necessary. He had done it to save Steve. Steve wants to know how many, but he doesn’t know why, and it won’t make it better or worse.

“Tony had tracked you, they were on their way. They brought us back to DC.”

“Tony?”

“Stark. Google him, there’s no lack of information there.”

Bucky seems drained by the conversation, so Steve drops it. He’ll get online later, find out more of who Tony Stark is. “Thanks.”

“Well, someone has to tell you, so it might as well-“

“For saving my life,” Steve interrupts. Bucky looks up at him, seems shocked. Steve doesn’t know why someone would be surprised you thanked them for saving your life. Especially when it seems you had been doing something very rash and stupid. He wonders if that’s a common trait of his.

“I - you would have - you have done, for me, I don’t need-“

Steve holds up his hand to stop Bucky’s rambling, and smiles to calm him. It works and Bucky settles a bit. He picks his fork back up, and they eat their comically large stack of pancakes in silence.

~

Steve can’t shake the feeling of being tired, but he thinks it’s really more about being overwhelmed. Bucky doesn’t say anything contrary when Steve says he’s going to bed at 2:50 in the afternoon. He just nods and looks worried, but doesn’t object. Steve goes to his room, unpacks the art supplies. He lays the fresh sketch pad on the desk, sets out the pencils. He can’t think of anything to draw yet. He lies down on the bed, on top of the sheets and comforter, and drifts off.

He has more fragments of dreams, of a woman with red lips and dark hair. She’s pretty, and she’s smiling. She kisses him and he feels a thrill go through him, and it wakes him up. With her image fresh in his mind, he goes to the desk, lets his memory put her on paper.

It’s weird to be good at something and not remember ever doing it. The drawing looks impressive, he has to admit. He’ll ask Bucky about her later. For now, he grabs his laptop and reads up on Tony Stark. Bucky’s right, there’s plenty of information, and he stays up all night reading.

In the morning, he emerges, sleep deprived but not exactly tired. He feels dried out, crispy and fragile, if that makes any sense. Bucky is at the kitchen table, having coffee, and staring blankly at the opposite wall. He startles a bit when he sees Steve and stands quickly.

“Uh, good morning,” he says awkwardly. This must be just as strange for him, Steve thinks.

Steve has the drawing of the woman, and hands it to Bucky. “Who is this?”

Bucky’s face is hard to read, one minute hopeful, the next oddly pained. “Peggy. Agent Peggy Carter. You met her during the war. You, uh… I think you loved her,” Bucky tells him.

“I had a dream about her. She kissed me.”

Bucky nods. “She’s still alive, you know. In hospice, has some trouble with Alzheimer’s. You visit her a lot. Probably best to wait to see if - when you get your memory back. Might be too confusing for her and for you, otherwise.”

Peggy. He has in love with her. Probably. “Was there anyone else? Did I have someone recently?”

Steve doesn’t know why Bucky looks so sad. “I don’t think so. I think she was it for you.”

Maybe Bucky is sad because Steve had never been able to live his life with Peggy. Seems a lot of people pity him for the time he spent in the ice. Since he can’t remember, he can’t really miss what he never had. However, he somehow knows that he came to terms with it. His dream last night hadn’t left him with any feeling other than the spark of kissing someone you’d wanted to, the thrill of first love.

“Well, what about you? You must have a girl,” Steve says to lighten the moment.

Bucky laughs, but it’s dismissive, not amused. “Ah, no. Not me.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Steve doesn’t ask, because it seems like a sensitive subject. Even though they’re best friends, or were, or however you explain it, it seems like he doesn’t know him well enough.

~

Steve feels like all he does is sleep and read. Read his books, read the internet, read files Natasha brings by. He likes Natasha, he thinks. She seems oddly protective of him. 

His dreams are often vivid, but don’t give him any information about who he was, just images of faces that aren’t familiar, buildings he has seen, maybe in Europe, maybe not. He draws everything he can, asks Bucky to identify things. Usually it’s small stuff, like school friends, the market on the corner in their old neighborhood, nothing that’s making anything surface.

Natasha says sometimes, when people have lost their memories, a specific thing will jog it, bring it all back. Steve wants that, but doesn’t know how to get to it. He doesn’t know what it would even be. Maybe it’s Peggy, maybe he needs to see her. It doesn’t seem quite right, though. He can’t put his finger on it.

It’s frustrating; he feels like he has all the pieces to a puzzle, but can’t make them fit, can’t figure out where they go. Corner pieces are easy: Bucky, Natasha, pancakes, sweatpants. Stupid, sure, but things he knows for sure he likes. They are part of his life, he knows where they go, but not how they really connect. He has access to almost limitless information, but it’s a foreign language almost, for all the good it does him. 

He also suspects that there are things being kept from him. Bucky was with him in the war, he fell from the train. HYDRA found him and used him as a weapon, he’d said that much. But there are no details. Bucky doesn’t offer them, and Steve doesn’t feel right demanding them. 

He asked Natasha about it once, but she just shook her head and told him, “Not yet.”

There are other people who are important, The Avengers. He’s not ready to see them. Someone named Sam he was close to, but he’s told Sam is giving him time. He wonders if time will be enough, or if he’ll never know who he was. Maybe he should start over, just make new memories.

~

A week after he’s been home, he wakes up in the middle of the night with a shout, covered in sweat and shaking. In his dream, there had been a man with a red face, sunken eyes. There was a fight, and he’d fallen into coldness.

He quickly gets up to draw the man, he’ll ask Bucky about him in the morning. Just as he’s started the drawing, there’s a knock on his door, and Bucky sticks his head it. He looks sleep rumpled but awake, and Steve knows that’s his fault.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, leaning against the door frame. 

“Yeah, sorry I woke you,” Steve says sheepishly, working on the drawing. “I dreamed… there was a man. His face, it wasn’t… it was red-“

“The Red Skull,” Bucky interjects. Steve looks up at him. “Johan Schmidt. You read about him in your book.” Bucky peers over at the drawing. “Yeah, that’s him all right. Anything, uh… did it help?”

Bucky is so careful not to push, and Steve appreciates that. Although being treated like he’s breakable all the time is a little unsettling. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not… you’re doing your best.”

“Why did you leave? Why did I go after you in Colorado?” Steve isn’t sure he should ask, but it’s bugging him, not to know. He guesses Bucky keeps things from him for his own benefit, but he also thinks he has a right to know the whole story.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, his long hair falling around his face. Steve knows he won’t deny him, and feels guilty about manipulating him, but he can’t put things in place without all the information.

“I… I was compromised,” he says quietly.

“I don’t understand.”

“I made a mistake, and I had to leave.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“A dangerous one, okay?” Bucky shouts, then puts his hand over his mouth. “I - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

Steve furrows his brow. He doesn’t know the details, but gets the feeling Bucky is blaming himself wrongly. He stands up and goes to put his hand on Bucky’s arm to comfort him, but Bucky pulls away quickly, drawing in on himself.

“I should go back to bed,” he says quietly. “Night, Steve.”

He shuffles down the hall, head bowed. Steve wants to stop him, to comfort him somehow, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what to say.

~

The next day, someone named Clint stops by with Natasha. Steve isn’t really ready to add another person to the list of people who look at him sympathetically, a face he should know but just can’t remember.

Clint, however, surprises him by not treating him like he’s made of glass.

“Hey, Cap. Clint Barton. Good to meet you. Again. I guess,” he smiles. He’s handsome, with strong arms and sharp eyes. Steve notes the hearing aids in both his ears. “So, how’s it coming along?”

Steve sighs. “Uh. I remember bits. Nothing that really strings anything together, though.”

“Did you try hitting him really hard on the head?” Clint asks Natasha, smirking.

She rolls her eyes. “I think that only worked on you because you’re so thick headed.”

“You?” Steve asks in surprise.

“Yeah, that guy Loki did a number on me. Seems like about half our ranks have had some evil geniuses tinkering around with our heads. But hey, the odds are in your favor, you got three rehabilitated super heroes right here!” Steve smiles at that, grateful at what Clint is trying to do. “So, can I get a beer or what?”

Something about that gives Steve deja vu and he shakes his head a bit to clear it.

“Steve?” Natasha prompts cautiously.

“I… I remember, you were here, you asked me that before.”

Clint looks impressed. “I sure did. Took you just about as long that time to get me one,” he teases. “I’ll just help myself…” He winks at Steve on his way to the kitchen.

“He’s good,” Natasha notes under her breath. “Used the same technique with you, Barnes, you remember?”

Bucky rolls his eyes a bit. “I’m not sure I would call it technique.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Barton says, rejoining them. 

~

Steve dreams of creatures coming from the sky, of large flesh and metal flying aliens. He draws all of it, hours of time, until his hand cramps up and he has to stop. He knows it’s the Battle of New York, he’s read about it. He knows The Avengers were all there, but it’s like watching a movie, he can’t fit himself into it.

~

After Clint’s visit, Steve feels more at ease. He’s not sure why, maybe the fact that Clint revealed that so many of them had gone through this. They knew what it was like. More importantly, they made it through, got their memories back. It makes him hopeful. He starts sleeping normal hours, starts drawing more than just his dreams. He spends more time with Bucky, because, even though he isn’t sure, he thinks they’ve been avoiding each other.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. But just… talk. About our lives, what we did, any where. Any time,” Steve requests. Bucky’s sitting on the couch, had been reading when Steve plopped down next to him.

Bucky marks his spot in his book and sets it in his lap. “Uh. Okay. When I first met you, you were getting your ass kicked in an alley by these school bullies.”

“I was, huh?” Steve’s a little amused. He’s having a good day, no nightmares for two nights, he’s been drawing some of the buildings downtown. He feels comfortable.

“Oh boy, were you. You were small then, but damned if you thought so. I was walking home when I saw them. Just beating the shit out of you. But you wouldn’t stay down. You never did.”

“What did you do?”

“Told ‘em to get lost.”

“And they did?”

Bucky laughs. “Hell no. They turned on me then. Luckily, I actually knew how to fight,” he teases.

“Hey!” Steve acts offended. “I learned eventually.”

“Anyway, gotta say, I was impressed. Something about you, I dunno. We just fell into step after that. Hung out all the time. You’d stay the night at my place all the time cuz my mom made pancakes for you in the morning. We’d put the couch cushions next to my bed, and you’d keep me up half the night, telling me all the things you were gonna do when you got bigger.”

“Shit. I dreamed, about the couch cushions, remember?”

Bucky looks wistful. “Yeah, I uh… I remember you said something about it.”

“Why didn’t you say something when I brought it up?”

Bucky looks nervous and starts fidgeting with the book in his hands. “I dunno. It was… it was personal, I guess. Didn’t know what to say, maybe.”

“Tell me another one,” Steve says to break the tension.

“I always used to make you go out with me, make you go dancing. You hated it. You’d never dance, you just sat in the corner. I even got you a dame, almost every time!”

“I couldn’t get my own girl?” Steve asks. He’s not embarrassed; it’s the past, it hardly matters. He’s mostly curious.

“Well, I think you could have. Hell, you were smart, good with your drawings. Brave as any man I knew. But you didn’t see that about yourself, so you’d never ask a girl out.”

“And you thought it was up to you?” He’s joking, but Bucky frowns and looks a little serious.

“I just wanted you to be happy, you know?” He shakes his head a little. “Anyway, we’d gone to a dance club, and your girl and my girl, well… let’s just say they both had eyes for me that night.”

“You stole my date?” Steve feigns outrage.

Bucky laughs, one of the first real laughs Steve actually hears from him. It makes him feel a little giddy, making Bucky laugh.

“I think she stole me, really. Anyway, you found us in the hallway by the bathrooms, both of them all over me, and you were so mad!”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Hell of a temper on you. You stormed off, and I had to peel myself away from the girls to chase you down, make you forgive me.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“I did,” Bucky says, looking at him earnestly. “I could never stand to have you mad at me.”

“So I forgave you.”

Bucky smiles. “Not right away. Took you two days to talk to me, you just kept stomping around the apartment.”

“What did you do?”

Bucky’s smile fades a little. “You got sick, your asthma. Bronchitis. You were in and out of sleep, I took two days off work to sit with you. Almost didn’t make rent, that was a tough month.”

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky waves him off. “Nah, don’t be. You couldn’t help it. It’s just… when you got sick like that, I used to get so worried…” He trails off and looks away. Steve understands, the memory is painful for him. The depth of Bucky’s concern shocks him a little, even though it probably shouldn’t. He puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and this time Bucky doesn’t pull away. He leans into it, even, and he and Steve sit in silence for a while, until Bucky finally seems to remember himself and excuses himself to make dinner.

When Steve goes to his room that night, his mind is swimming, trying to sort out what Bucky’s told him, what he’s said without saying anything. There’s something there, something more, he can feel it. He’s so wound up that he can’t sleep, so he pulls another book from the shelf, something to occupy his mind. It falls open to a certain page, a piece of paper wedged in. There’s a note, written to him by Bucky, about going running. He doesn’t know why he would have kept it.

Steve gasps audibly when he turns it over, sees the drawing of Bucky on the back. Bucky shirtless, smiling. The definition of his lips, his chest. Fuck. Fuck.

That’s what they’ve been keeping from him. He and Bucky were lovers.

No, that’s not quite right.

He had been in love with Bucky.

~

It was a weird thing, realizing you were in love with someone when you didn’t have any memories of it. He knew he was attracted to Bucky, but he had thought it was the draw of their relationship, their friendship. But he - his former self? How was he supposed to define who he’d been as a separate person from who he currently was? - he was in love with his best friend. And Bucky didn’t know. It felt like he was keeping someone else’s secret, when it was really his own.

Unless… he wasn’t completely sure maybe there hadn’t been something between them. The way Bucky looked at him sometimes, the stories he would tell… it was possible everyone was just keeping that from Steve, thinking he couldn’t handle it.

He knew he should feel some self preservation for the man he’d been, but the thought nagged at him, and he finally broke down and asked Natasha. She had told him to call if he needed anything, even if this was far from an emergency. He didn’t feel that close to her now, but knew they had been, and that he could trust her.

“Hey.”

“Hi Steve. Everything okay?” He could hear the concern in her voice.

“Yeah.” Pause. “Well, no. Okay, this is… I’m sorry to call you with this…”

“Spit it out.”

“Were Bucky and I…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Were we… together?”

She doesn’t speak for a few moments. “No.”

Steve is immediately disappointed, because even if he didn’t know Bucky like he used to, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel something that definitely ranked above and beyond friendship. But it’s not like he could trick him into a relationship with the person he currently was.

“Oh. I thought-“

“You’re in love with him. Or were. I don’t know if you are now.”

Aha. He’d been right. “I thought so.”

“What makes you think so?”

Steve doesn’t want to tell her about the drawing; it was kept secret for a reason. “I don’t know, I just… they - we, I mean - were so close, I can just imagine that was the case.”

“I don’t think you should talk to him about this.”

Steve’s brow creases. “Why? You don’t think he felt, or feels, the same?”

“I think, with everything that’s going on right now, there are more important things to think about.”

Steve disagrees, and he’s not sure that it’s her real reason for her advice. But he kind of has the feeling that he shouldn’t as well. “Yeah. Too complicated, don’t need to make it worse.”

“Right. You doing okay? I mean, otherwise?”

“Yeah. Not much coming back, but Bucky’s been telling me things, trying to help.”

“Good. That’s good. Sam wants to see you,” she adds gently. No one wants to push him. He misses Clint.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess… that would be okay. Do you think it’s okay?” It’s hard to let someone else evaluate his progress, but he doesn’t really know how much he’s made, and Natasha has more experience with brainwashing than he does.

“I think it would be good. I’ll tell him to stop by tomorrow. You guys used to run together, maybe you can pick that up again. Maybe it’ll help.”

Steve sags a little. Maybe it won’t, not much else has. “Sure. Talk to you soon.”

~

Sam Wilson is coming by the house early, and Steve has prepared by dressing in clothes for running. He’s nervous, even though he knows that’s foolish. Sam is his friend, and it will be like meeting Clint, or Natasha. 

Luckily, Sam is as easy going, or more so, than the rest of his friends. “Hey Steve. How’s it going today?” he asks gently. He immediately puts Steve at ease.

“Uh, good. Sorry I don’t-“

Sam holds up a hand to stop him. “No need for that, man. Did you wanna go for a run? Tasha thought it might help.”

“At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

Bucky is still in bed, or in his room at least. Steve leaves a quick note and he and Sam head out.

“I’ll just take us on the regular loop, if that’s okay,” Sam says. “And remember, you got super speed, so if you wanna do any talking, you’re gonna have to slow it down a little for your non super friend.”

Steve grins. “All right. No races, then?”

“Glad your sarcasm is still in tact,” Sam jabs.

They start running and Steve finds he really does have to hold back to stay with Sam. They don’t talk much at first, but then Sam just starts saying whatever comes to his mind. Probably trying to spark a memory, seems like everyone has been doing that. He eventually talks about when they were looking for Bucky, the HYDRA bases they saw, how they followed Bucky’s trail.

“You knew I was in love with him, didn’t you?” Steve asks suddenly. Hearing someone else talk about the way he was with Bucky, it must have been so obvious.

Sam doesn’t answer at first, just smiles knowingly and a little sad. “I kinda figured. You remember being in love with him?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not really. But I mean, kind of hard to ignore it, with everything I’ve heard. But we were never together. Right?” Maybe Natasha had lied to spare his feelings, or to protect him.

“Not that I knew about. Maybe before the ice? But I don’t know, man. You never told me anything about that.”

Steve nods. Okay, must have been unrequited, and that is pretty shitty for… well, him. He feels weirdly disconnected from it, though. Like it’s not his emotion to have. He feels like a clone, someone who walked in and just took over Steve Rogers’ life without permission or the necessary experience.

They round a corner and something surfaces in his mind, like a memory, but not quite fully formed. “On your left?” he says, but it’s more of a question.

Sam smiles wide, looking excited. “Did you just remember that?”

“Yeah, I think… I mean, kind of. If that makes sense. It’s there, but not the detail.”

“It’s progress, Steve. Even when you think you’re not making any, you are. Every day. Don’t forget that.”

~

Another week passes, with fragments of memories coming in dreams. Steve asks Bucky daily for another story, something from their past. Bucky focuses mostly on things before the war, and Steve wonders if that was the time he remembers the most, or if it’s because it was the time that was the most carefree for him.

Eventually, one night, he tells him about getting captured with the 107th. About Zola’s table, and how Steve showed up and saved him. Steve feels uncomfortable, but can’t figure out why. Maybe he has pieces of that memory close to the surface, maybe because it was so poignant at the time.

Then he tells him about the train, and getting captured. Bucky’s never told him this much about what HYDRA has done. He tells him how they put him in cryo, but after that he won’t talk about it any more.

~

It kind of bothers Steve, that Bucky won’t tell him about anything after HYDRA put him on ice. He tells him it’s because it doesn’t have anything to do with Steve and won’t help his memories come back. Steve knows there’s more to it than that, but anytime he pushes, Bucky shuts down, makes excuses to leave the apartment.

“Then tell me about when you came back,” Steve tries.

Bucky sighs, clearly agitated. Steve doesn’t know if it’s right for him to push so hard, but he needs to know. “I told you, Natasha picked me up in Poland, then Clint brought me here.”

“That’s it, though? I keep getting this feeling, like-“

“Can we just, can we drop it? I told you, and I don’t know what else you want from me!” Bucky shouts. 

Steve is taken aback; Bucky hardly ever raises his voice with him. Maybe Steve did something to Bucky, something Bucky doesn’t want to remember, or tell him. “Did I do something? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry if I did, Buck.”

“What did you call me?” Bucky asks quietly. He’s not looking at Steve, just staring straight ahead, at the living room wall.

“Uh, I guess I called you Buck?” Steve doesn’t know why he did it, didn’t even realize. It seems to mean something to Bucky.

“You - you used to call me that. Haven’t called me that since you woke up.”

Steve doesn’t know why this is significant, it’s so close to ‘Bucky,’ but clearly it’s important. “What do you think it means?” Steve asks, moving closerto Bucky. Their arms brush and it seems to pull Bucky out of his thoughts.

He moves away at the contact, seems uneasy about it. “I don’t know,” he says, but his mind is clearly racing.

~

Steve’s dreams that night are fragmented and restless, and then suddenly very sharp. Bucky is there, but it’s not Bucky. Or, it is, but Steve can’t tell for sure. He’s wearing a mask, or… a muzzle. Something. He’s coming at Steve, he has a knife, he-

Steve wakes up shouting, fighting an invisible foe, arms lashing out. His bedroom door crashes open and Bucky runs in.

“Steve, Steve! It’s okay, it was a dream-“ Bucky reaches for Steve, but Steve is recoiling, stumbling out of the bed and back against the wall.

“No, you stay back!” Steve yells. He can’t get his thoughts together. Bucky tried to kill him. This man, who claims is his best friend, tried to kill him. Shot him, stabbed him. Hurt his friends. Why hadn’t anyone told him?

He’s not safe, he’s not, he’s still being experimented on, they’re messing with his mind, they’re trying to manipulate him. He focuses on Bucky, who looks confused and scared.

“Steve, please-“

“You tried to kill me,” Steve murmurs. Bucky takes in a quick, audible breath and freezes in place. “You shot me. You wouldn’t tell me, you lied, you’re still trying to-“

“No Steve, please. It’s not like that, I didn’t know-“

“You’re keeping me here, you and the rest, you’re HYDRA!”

Steve is shaking with adrenaline and fear, and he’s pressed back into the wall, thinks he might actually push through it if he tries. Bucky is holding his hands out on front of him, a gesture to soothe Steve. He’s moving closer though, slowly, like Steve is a spooked animal. That’s exactly how he feels.

“That’s not - I didn’t know what I was doing, I wouldn’t ever hurt you, I swear, please,” Bucky says, still moving in on Steve.

Steve can’t think straight, isn’t sure if he should trust his splintered memories or the man he thought was his friend. His heart is pounding, he’s sweating, he’s panicking. He sees his shield by the foot of the bed, looks at the window, knows even before he can formulate the whole plan what he’s going to do. Break the glass in the window, jump five stories down, tuck and roll on the grass, pick up speed, head toward the city, stick to the allies, lose his probable tails on the back streets he knows so well but doesn’t know why. 

“Steve,” Bucky pleads, sounding broken. Steve feels only a second of sharp remorse before he’s running, grabbing the shield, and crashing through the window. He rolls through the grass and spares one look back, sees Bucky’s form framed by the sharp edges of glass. He turns and runs, runs full out, bare feet slapping the cold asphalt, bitter fall air stinging his skin.

Maybe he didn’t think this through all the way. He has nowhere to go, no phone to contact anyone. He isn’t sure who he can trust, anyway. Natasha, Clint, Sam. They might all be HYDRA, too. That would explain why they were keeping Bucky’s secret.

Steve finds an empty house, for sale sign in the yard. He normally would never do something like this, but he breaks the lock easily and slips in the back door. There’s no furniture, but it’s warmer than it is outside, and gives him a hiding place. He doesn’t try the lights, just creeps through, not wanting to arouse suspicion. 

There’s a bedroom on the main floor and he sits in the corner against the wall with the window so he can’t be seen from outside. He pulls his knees up and puts his shield close, in case they can track him, in case they followed him. 

Steve feels betrayed, and beyond that, a deep down heartache that he can’t really reconcile. He trusted Bucky, how long had this been going on? Did his old self know what Bucky had done? Or had he been brainwashed since Bucky had attacked him? Had Bucky won, wiped his memory, implanted false memories? What could Steve even trust?

He curls up on the carpet, resting his head on his arms. He can’t fall asleep, they might catch him, but he feels dizzy, and thinks he might be blacking out. He tries to fight it, but his head spins and he can’t stop it.

~

Steve comes to, face pressed against the carpet. Sunlight is coming in the window, and he can hear birds chirping. He sits up quickly and reaches for his shield, but it’s not there.

“Looking for this?”

Steve’s head jerks up to see Clint leaning against the opposite wall, idly spinning his shield.

“Give me that, and I won’t have to hurt you,” Steve growls. He had been followed. And now he was unarmed.

Clint huffs out a laugh. “Cap, relax. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have brainwashed and kidnapped me.”

Clint’s eyebrows climb his forehead. “That’s what you think? God, no wonder Barnes is such a mess.”

“He tried to kill me,” Steve says, standing slowly. He has no idea what kind of fighter Clint is, but he sees the bow and arrow set on his back.

“He did, that’s true. In fact, so have I.”

Steve furrows his brow. “Is this supposed to be talking me down from fighting you?”

Clint smiles a little, then throws Steve his shield. He catches it easily, then shoots Clint a questioning look. “I don’t want to fight you, Steve.”

“Then why are you here? And how did you find me?”

Clint grabs a backpack on the floor next to him and throws it at Steve’s feet. “Tracker on your shield. You put it there, before. I just used it.”

Steve bends down and grabs the backpack. Inside are a t-shirt and hoodie, socks and shoes, and some food. He considers rejecting them, but has no reason not to put the warmer clothes on. He is hungry, but he’s not sure he can trust the food.

“How about you let me give you the whole story, then you decide what you wanna do next?” Clint suggests.

~

Steve feels numb. Clint tells him everything HYDRA did to Bucky, tells him about Insight. A part of him feels so much pain for Bucky, but another part still can’t be sure what to believe. He says that out loud to Clint.

Clint is still against the opposite wall, but he’s sitting now, having talked for several hours. He shrugs easily at Steve’s question. “I can’t make you believe anything. I know I didn’t, at first. I didn’t know what was true and what was Loki.”

“Then how did you ever know who to trust?” Steve asks.

“Little by little, things just sort of fell in to place. That’s the bitch of it; it just takes time.”

Steve sighs. “So what am I supposed to do in the mean time? Go back and live with someone who tried to kill me?”

“He’s not that guy anymore. Or, well, he shouldn’t be. I guess there’s a few more things I should fill you in on.”

Steve lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud. “Jesus, really?”

~

“So this Petrovich… I killed him?”

“Yeah. And Bucky took off after that. Don’t think he could handle the guilt of what he’d done to you… again. You two certainly have a propensity for bailing when shit gets rough.”

Steve scowls. “I think attempted murder qualifies as more than shit getting rough.”

Clint laughs. “I suppose. Look, I need to get back. I’m going to tell them you’re okay, but that’s it. I switched off the tracker, they won’t be able to find you.”

“So what do I do now?” Steve asks. Stay in this house? Go back to the apartment? Disappear for a while, maybe?

“That’s up to you, Steve. Take the time you need, do whatever you have to. Just… try to remember it wasn’t really Bucky, okay?”

Steve nods, but doesn’t promise anything. He eventually eats the food Clint had brought, and when it doesn’t kill or drug him, it helps his faith in his story. He looks at the tracker on his shield, hidden behind the arm strap. It’s disabled, and knowing that helps, too. He stashes his stuff in the empty closet and leaves the house, heads downtown.

~

“Steve!” a woman says brightly upon seeing him. “It’s been a while. Peggy’s been asking about you.”

Steve isn’t sure this is a good idea. He’s been told about Peggy, has a few memories of her. He also knows that she sometimes has trouble, too, and that might make this a disaster. He’s going to risk it. 

He doesn’t remember the nurse, but smiles at her just the same. “Yeah, been busy. Can I see her?”

“Of course, follow me.” The woman leads him down a corridor to a room. Carter, Peggy the plaque outside the door says. “Go on in.”

Steve takes a deep breath and goes through the door, shutting it behind him. An old woman lies awake in the bed, smiling widely at him. She looks a little like she did in his dreams, and he can still see the spark in her eyes that he knows he fell in love with.

“Thought maybe you forgot about me,” she says, accent like a melody.

He laughs a little. “That’s a funny way of putting it, Peggy, because I kind of did.”

He tells her everything that he can remember, what he’s been told. She listens quietly, reaches out and takes his hand when he talks about leaving his apartment last night.

“It seems to me that you can’t manage to catch a break,” she says when he finishes. “So what can I do to help?”

“I don’t know. Any good at restoring people’s memories?” He flinches after saying it, knowing she has difficulties of her own.

“Steve,” she says, squeezing his hand. “Sometimes, all we can do is make new memories. Have you considered the fact that you might never have everything back from your old life?”

He had. At least, initially. But then Natasha, Clint, Bucky… they’d all recovered, he assumed he would as well. He stopped worrying that he might not ever fully remember everything. “I - I guess I’ve been avoiding that.”

“It might be time. Just because you can’t have your old life, that doesn’t mean you can’t have one at all. It doesn’t even have to be the way it was. You could start fresh.”

“I could, I guess.”

“But?” she prompts.

“I don’t know. A part of me…” he trails off. There’s something keeping him here. A pull, a force deep down making him stay.

“Bucky,” Peggy says. 

Steve nods. “I don’t… I don’t understand. What we mean to each other. What we meant. I know we were friends, it just feels like there’s something else.”

Peggy laughs, and gestures to the bedside table. “You aren’t the only one.”

Steve picks up a magazine, obviously one of the gossip rags. The headline, the photo… he and Bucky.

“What is this?” His head is spinning, seeing the picture. Seeing himself with Bucky. Both of them happy, smiling. Dancing close together. 

“Speculation, at best. But I always thought maybe something more.”

“I loved him,” Steve admits.

“I know,” Peggy says. “Do you still?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I could. I just don’t want to do anything someone might regret.”

“You mean something you might regret?”

“I guess, but it’s not really me, it was who I was, and-“

“Steve,” she stops him. “You are you, not two people. You lost your memory, yes, but you’re still Steve Rogers. Nothing will change that. Deep down, you still have all the same things that made you who you were. They will make you who you are again. I think you should focus less on becoming who you were, and start over.”

Steve nods. It feels like giving up, somehow, but she’s right; he might not ever get everything back. Now it’s just up to him to decide if he wants to start again where he is, or move on.

~

Steve goes back to the empty house for the night to decide his next move. Either way, he’s going to have to face Bucky, to come home or to get his things and leave.

He wants to stay, he wants to just pick up the life of Steve Rogers, but he’s not sure that’s fair. Everyone will be waiting for him to suddenly remember who he is, be the man they knew. Peggy has a point, that he is that man still. He knows he can never be that person completely without his memories.

He selfishly wants to stay with Bucky, make some sort of life with him, even if it is just as friends. He doesn’t know if the affection he feels for Bucky is latent memories or if he’s currently… shit, he knows what it is; he’s falling in love with him. Even knowing Bucky tried to kill him multiple times isn’t enough of a deterrent, and that’s scary.

That’s something that makes him want to leave, because it’s overwhelming and terrifying. You shouldn’t have romantic feelings for someone who has shot, stabbed, and choked you. But that wasn’t Bucky, that was the Soldier.

Does that mean he’s not Steve, then?

~

Steve goes back to the apartment the next morning. He’s not going to stay, he doesn’t think it’s fair to himself, but especially to Bucky. He’ll never be the man Bucky knew, or what he wants him to be. He’ll just be a mockery of Steve Rogers.

He doesn’t have his keys, so he lets himself in through the broken window of his bedroom. He thinks he can maybe even get in and out without Bucky knowing he’s been there. He knows he should say goodbye, but it’ll be easier to call him from a payphone on the road. 

He climbs carefully around the jagged shards of glass and his feet touch down almost silently.

“Hey.” 

Steve startles, eyes settling on Bucky, sitting on his bed with legs drawn up. His head is bowed, not looking at Steve, and he makes no move to get up. “Didn’t know if you were coming back.”

“I was just going to get some things, and-“

“So that’s it, you’re leaving?” Bucky practically shouts. Steve jumps at the change in volume, and steps back when Bucky stands. “After everything, you’re just going to go?”

“Bucky, look, I’m not the man you think I am-“

“Did that stop you from trying to find me before? When I wasn’t the same man you knew?”

“I don’t remember,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky laughs bitterly. “Well, let me fill you in; it didn’t. You would have taken me, no matter who I was. And you think it would be any different for me? I don’t care that you’re not him, because you are. You are the same Steve I grew up with, that I fought beside, who saved me, even if you don’t remember. And I’m not giving up on you.”

“So I get no say in this?” Steve yells back. It isn’t fair to have Bucky throw this in his face, he doesn’t even know who that man is.

Bucky practically collapses back onto the bed, hunching over. There’s no more resolve in him, Steve can see that. “I won’t keep you here, if that’s what you mean. I can’t, I don’t want you to be miserable because of me.”

“I wouldn’t be miserable,” Steve says quietly. He walks over the Bucky and kneels so they’re looking each other in the eyes. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Bucky closes his eyes, and dips his head lower. Steve tips Bucky’s chin up with his hand. Bucky’s eyes open and he looks at Steve, a look Steve can’t read, and then he leans in, his lips barely inches from his.

Steve turns his head away. “Don’t. I’m not him.”

Bucky lets out a jagged sigh. He stands, pushing past Steve to the door. “You don’t have to stay. But you can, if you want. I won’t…” He trails off.

Steve stands alone in his bedroom, wanting nothing more than to stay, than to kiss Bucky, than to be Steve Rogers.

~

Steve decides not to go, at least for one night. He spends the day in his room, sealing up the window with plywood until he can get it fixed. It makes his bedroom dark, closed off from the world, which is oddly comforting. He’s avoiding Bucky, he knows that. After what happened this morning, he’s not sure what to think. He - his past self - was in love with Bucky. Bucky tried to kiss him, that must mean Bucky was in love with him. Is in love with him?

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. His knee jerk reaction is to be hopeful and happy, but he can’t when he feels like an imposter.

That’s if Bucky was even trying to kiss him. It doesn’t make any sense. If Bucky had been in love with him, then they would have been together, right? He was reading too much into things, he knew that must be it.

He falls asleep early and wakes up late, then takes a long shower. He doesn’t know if Bucky is still home, but he knows he’ll have to face him eventually. When he finally goes downstairs, Bucky is sitting on the couch with his laptop open.

He looks up at Steve for a second, then back to the screen. “Hey,” he says. “You stayed.”

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“Just for the night, or…?” Bucky trails off. He won’t look up at Steve. The tension is suffocating, Steve wishes there was something he could do to make it go away.

“I’m staying,” he says, then sits next to Bucky on the couch. Bucky finally looks over at him. “But… I might never be that guy again, Bucky. The Steve you had before. I don’t know if I’ll get my memory back. If I don’t, I’m just gonna be, well, me.”

Bucky nods, then closes his laptop. He turns to Steve and purses his lips for a minute. “That’s fine. That’s… I don’t want you to be anyone else.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I want you to get your memories back, sure. But it’s not… we’ll manage, either way.” Bucky’s phone chimes and he digs it out of his pocket. He reads the message and frowns at it.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s Natasha. They need my help on something.”

“Something?” Steve repeats, looking for more information.

Bucky tries for casual and shrugs, but Steve can read him easier than he should be able to. “Yeah, just. A mission, nothing major.”

“What about me? Should I-“

“They want you to sit this one out,” Bucky interrupts. Steve makes a face and Bucky quickly adds, “Cuz your amnesia. That’s it. They just want you to take some more time, get back in the swing of things, or… y’know.”

It’s irritating, because Steve remembers how to fight, knows he’s a huge asset to them, but everyone keeps treating him like he’s about to shatter.

Bucky must pick up on it: “Look, I’ll talk to them while we’re in the field, we’ll get you back into training and you can show them you’re ready, okay? I know how much you hate not being on the front line.”

~ 

Natasha picks Bucky up a few hours later and Steve locks the door behind them, slouching in a visible sulk now that he’s alone. He has nothing to do, no one to talk to, and already feels restless from not going with them. He feels nervous for Bucky, wants to be out there, watching his back. It’s not that he doesn’t think they’re capable, they are. He can’t help worrying.

He’s weirdly exhausted, so he lies down on the couch and closes his eyes. Maybe if he mulls over the memories he has, the rest will come back. If he’s going to be honest with himself, though, he’s kind of afraid of what will happen if his amnesia does go away. Maybe there are things that are better not to remember. What if he finds something out about himself that he doesn’t like?

Steve falls into a restless sleep, and dreams about being closed into a metal coffin, feeling small and scared. He dreams about pain, about feeling like his muscles are tearing themselves apart. He dreams about blinding light, and suffocating heat, and then a sudden rush of cool air. 

That jerks him awake, and he struggles to hang on to the memories, the image of a man’s face. Kind, bearded, rounded glasses. Steve rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up to grab his sketch pad and a pencil. He wants to draw the man while he can still see his face in his mind’s eye.

As he roughs out the features, he realizes he must have been dreaming about Dr. Erskine, and the super soldier serum. He can’t explain it, but it feels like he’s closer to breaking through somehow.

After he finishes his drawing, he pops open Bucky’s laptop and does a Google search for Abraham Erskine. He clicks on the wikipedia entry and looks at the photo. His drawing looks almost exactly like it, and it sends chills through him. To have the memory close enough to the surface but not be able to grasp it is an unsettling feeling and it makes him feel a little queasy.

Bucky doesn’t come home that night, and it makes Steve panicky. He checks his phone, but there are no messages. He sends a casual one to Natasha, because he doesn’t want Bucky to know he’s worrying. He forces himself to eat a sandwich, then tries to lay down to sleep, but he can’t.

He goes down to Bucky’s room and sits on the bed. He knows he probably shouldn’t be in there, but it makes him feel a little more settled somehow. He lies down and pulls the blanket up to his shoulders. It smells like Bucky, and it’s kind of overwhelming, but he can’t help but press his face into the soft fabric. It makes the longing he always feels a little sharper, but somehow he thinks he deserves the torture.

~

Steve wakes up slowly, feeling warm and content. He freezes, realizing there’s an arm thrown over him. It has to be Bucky, who else would it be? The hand on his stomach moves a little lower and his breath catches.

“You awake?” Bucky whispers against his ear. Steve shivers and nods. “Do you mind?” Bucky asks, running his thumb down the trail of hair below Steve’s navel.

“No,” he whispers back, not even sure it’s loud enough to be heard. Either it is or Bucky’s not really waiting for him to answer because he keeps touching, his fingers creeping below the elastic of Steve’s sweatpants. “Bucky…” Steve says, and he’s not even sure if it’s meant to be deterring or encouraging.

“Please,” Bucky whines, and Steve shifts his hips back into Bucky’s groin. Bucky is hard against his ass and Steve moans, can’t help himself. “Yeah, Stevie. Yeah.” Bucky pushes his hand farther into Steve’s pants, dragging his fingertips over Steve’s cock. He presses into that, and Bucky’s hips follow him forward, keeping the contact with his ass.

“God, Buck. I want-“ he tries, gasp breaking from him as Bucky properly strokes him.

“I know, pal. Don’t worry, I’ve got you…”

Steve startles, feels like he’s falling. It’s suddenly a lot colder, there’s no heat at his back, no hands on him. He’s in Bucky’s bed, it’s dark, the middle of the night. Bucky’s not here.

It was a dream.

Steve flushes with embarrassment, even though no one’s there to be ashamed in front of. He’s painfully hard, the front of his sweats sticking to the wetness of his cock where it’s leaked against the cotton. He wants to touch himself, but he won’t do it here, not in Bucky’s bed.

He gets out of the warmth of the bed and goes up to his own room, closing the door behind him even though he’s alone. He sits on his bed and takes deep breaths, thinking maybe if he calms down, he can just go to sleep and avoid doing what even the thought of makes him cringe. Like if he jerks off thinking of Bucky, it will betray their friendship, or trust, or something.

He can’t stop thinking about the feel of Bucky’s hands on him, the heat of their bodies pressed together. Something about it seemed so real. Like it was a memory instead.

But… that can’t be real. Everyone had told him, they’d never been together. He believed that, had no reason not to. He can’t shake the dream, though, can’t stop thinking about it, can’t keep himself from pushing his pants down over his thighs and slicking up his hand so he can press into the tightness of his fist. Can’t stop the broken moan of Bucky’s name when he comes.

~

“Hey, I’m back - whoa,” Bucky says, door shutting behind him. He looks from Steve on the couch, to the coffee table, covered in beer bottles. “Uh… how’s it going?” he asks cautiously.

“Did you know I can’t get drunk?” Steve asks, drinking the beer in his hand anyway. It still tastes good, at least. But after the (he quickly counts) 19 beers he’s consumed, he feels stone cold sober. Which is a shame, because he’s trying really hard to forget about two nights ago, and his dream, and what he’d done after.

“I did know that,” Bucky says, tossing his bag by the couch and sitting next to Steve. “The serum, it boosts your metabolism, you process the alcohol too quickly.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “What about you? Can you get drunk?”

“Oh, I can,” Bucky says merrily, “and I do. Often. What’s going on?”

Steve can’t tell him about what’s really getting to him, but he can definitely tell him what happened yesterday. “I went to the Smithsonian.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. “Oh? Just… went?”

“Yeah.”

“And… how did that go?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but it seems I’m sort of… famous.”

Bucky tries to suppress a grin. “You are, huh?”

“I’m also slightly recognizable.”

Bucky chuckles but quickly muffles it behind his hand. “What happened?”

“There might have been a mob, and a slight trampling.”

“Shit. Sorry pal. But,” he reaches into the bag by his feet, rummaging, “I actually have a surprise for you.”

Steve perks up, sitting a little taller from where he’s slumped into the couch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky pulls out a small unmarked bottle. “Tony made this for you.” He hands it over.

Steve turns it over a few times. “What is it?”

“Genetically engineered liquor for a genetically engineered super soldier,” Bucky explains. “Stark’s pretty proud of himself. He says it’s guaranteed to get you drunk. But take it real easy with that.”

Steve twists open the cap and smells the liquid; it’s strong, kind of makes his eyes water. “Holy shit.”

Bucky grins, then grabs one of the unopened beers from the six-pack holder on the coffee table. “Bottom’s up, Cap.” He uses his metal hand to pop the top and clinks the bottle against the one Steve is holding. They both drink.

Tony’s concoction tastes the way gasoline smells and steals the air from his lungs. He coughs a little, but immediately can feel the warmth of it spread through him. “Remind me to thank him,” he says, limbs looser. He can feel a flush spreading up his neck and over his cheeks. 

“I better get some whiskey if I’m gonna keep up with you,” Bucky says, going to the kitchen. Steve can hear the ice in the tumbler, and it reminds him of something, but he can’t put his finger on it. Probably just Bucky, doing this back in the 1930s. It makes Steve feel even warmer.

Bucky flops down next to him and starts laughing a little. His cheeks are red, too; the whiskey must be hitting him quickly.

“What’s funny?” Steve asks, smiling back.

“I was just remembering the first time you got drunk.”

Steve makes a pained face, because it sounds like it wasn’t the most dignified experience of his life. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You threw up all over the nice girl I had talked into going out with you.”

Steve covers his eyes with his hand. “No wonder I had so much trouble getting laid.”

Bucky is quiet for a minute, then asks, “Hey, Stevie?”

“Mmm?” Steve responds, taking another small sip of the super booze.

“Did you ever get laid?”

Steve opens his mouth to immediately respond, but has to stop himself. He doesn’t know, obviously. “Oh my god. I have no idea.”

Bucky laughs. “That is really sad.”

“Jesus, I might be a 96 year old virgin.”

Bucky is laughing so hard he has to wipe tears from his eyes. He finally tapers off, then fixes his heavy lidded eyes on Steve. “We should do something about that.”

Steve’s heart is suddenly hammering and he feels light headed. Does Bucky mean… no, he can’t possibly. But. “Yeah. We should,” he agrees, leaning in a little.

“Find you a nice girl. Or…” Is Bucky leaning in, too?

“Or…” Steve repeats, then licks his lips. It seems to startle Bucky, who sits up, moving away.

“Yeah, uh. That’s what we should do, I can take you out on the town - “

“Nah. Thanks Bucky, but I kind of think one night stands aren’t my thing.”

Bucky nods. “I’d try to talk you into it, but I’m pretty sure you’re right. You always said you were waiting for the right partner.”

The phrase hits Steve like a ton of bricks, stirs up thoughts in his brain but none that he can pin down. He’s too drunk to focus, too hot from the thoughts he’d allowed about closing the distance, kissing Bucky. Neither of them speak for a while, and Steve feels unsettled and restless.

“Ya know? I changed my mind. Let’s go out. I can at least try to meet someone.”

Bucky looks a little uneasy but smiles to hide it. “Yeah, okay. Let me clean up a bit, then we’ll go.”

While Bucky’s showering, Steve changes into black jeans and a tight, grey t-shirt. He has another sip of the liquor and tucks the bottle into his pocket, in case he needs some liquid courage later on.

Bucky steps out of his room, wearing leather pants and a red tank top. They both look each other up and down.

“Leather?” Steve says, smiling a little.

“Shut up, I look good in this,” Bucky shoots back.

~

Bucky takes them to a club downtown, where the music is loud and the patrons sparingly dressed. Bucky seems anxious to get away from Steve, and it stings. Steve isn’t sure what he expected, something different after the magazine Peggy had showed him. Them, dancing close together, smiling at each other.

Bucky whispers in the ear of a tiny blonde girl, who laughs at whatever he’s said to her. She turns her full attention on him once she gets a good look, and Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous. The girl grabs Bucky by the hand and pulls him into the crowd. He makes a very fake apologetic face at having to leave Steve behind, and the jealousy is tinged with annoyance. Why is Bucky being so flippant all of the sudden? It makes Steve bolder, and he approaches a tall brunette at the bar. He can hardly hear a word she says, but she agrees to dance with him.

Her name is Stacy, or Lizzy, or something. She’s beautiful, and she’s happy to let him rest his hands on her hips, and to press her ass into his crotch as they dance. It’s fine, he doesn’t hate it, but it’s not what he wants. He starts to get a sick feeling in his gut, maybe from the booze, but he thinks he knows what it is.

Steve excuses himself and starts to scan the bar for Bucky. No sign of him there, and Steve can’t see him on the dance floor, either. The soldier in him takes over and he does a sweep of the room, but he doesn’t see him anywhere and panic surges in him. He runs out the door and onto the street.

“Have you seen a guy leave here? Dark hair, about my height?”

“The hot one with the metal arm?” The door guy asks.

Steve glares before saying, “Yeah.”

“He left with some other dude. Sorry guy. Looks like he’s cheating on ya.”

A dude? What about the blonde he’d been with? Bucky had always been with women, why was he leaving the club with a man? The man must have abducted him, been an agent of HYDRA. Bucky was in trouble, and Steve was too drunk to think straight. He’d better go home, make a plan, call the team. They could cover more ground that way, they’d know HYDRA bases to check. 

He shouldn’t have let Bucky out of his sight, and now he was probably being tortured and maybe even brainwashed again and what good would they be if neither of them could remember anything? Steve runs home, can’t think past getting there, making a plan, finding Bucky. He has to make sure he’s okay, that’s all, he just wants to know Bucky is safe. 

When he gets home he takes the stairs two at a time up to their apartment and fumbles with the keys in the lock, dropping them in the hall. He can hear laughter on the other side. Who’s in his house? Why are they laughing? Maybe if he were sober, he could steady himself, master his emotions like he’s gotten so good at doing. But he’s not sober.

He breaks the door open.

Bucky’s standing in the living room with some guy, a guy who has his hands on Bucky. A guy who isn’t trying to hurt him, but is kissing him, and Steve is there in seconds, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt.

“Hey!” the guy protests, until he actually gets a look at Steve. “He didn’t say he had a boyfriend-“ he turns quickly to Bucky and hisses, “You didn’t say you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t,” Bucky says, with a hint of laughter in his voice. Steve marches the guy to the door and shoves him through. He closes it behind him, although it won’t latch now that he’s busted it. “Well, that was rude.”

Steve whips his head around to Bucky. “Don’t,” Steve growls, but he’s not even sure what he’s telling Bucky not to do. “I thought you’d been kidnapped, I thought-“

“Jesus, calm down! I’m fine!”

“How was I supposed to know that? You should have told me you were leaving, you can’t just-“

“Why not? Why shouldn’t I get to have a little fun? Just because you can’t have a one night stand-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to just sleep with every person you meet!”

“And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to! What difference does it make to you?”

“I was in love with you,” he blurts out, and immediately regrets it. “Before,” he adds quietly, because this shit is confusing enough without mixing up who he was and who he is now.

Bucky’s angry expression drops away immediately. He looks like he’s been punched in the stomach, simultaneously lost and devastated. “How do you know that?” he whispers, voice breaking.

Steve isn’t sure he should answer, but it’s too late, no going back now. “I just, I know.”

“But how can you be sure? You loved Peggy, you-“

“Bucky, I know, okay?”

“You like dames, though-“

“Bucky…” Steve says helplessly. It wasn’t his secret to share, he shouldn’t have said anything, and now he’s ruined everything.

Bucky clears his throat. “I wish you would have told me.”

“I just did…”

“I mean before.”

“The thing is,” Steve continues, because shit, might as well just lay it all on the table. He can blame it on being drunk, right? “I think… I’m falling in love with you.” He pauses for a second and Bucky looks like he might scream, or throw up, so Steve pushes on. “I don’t want to do that to you, I don’t want to use his face, his voice, it would be like a trick, and I can’t do that.”

Bucky takes a second to compose himself, steadying his breathing. He looks ruined, and this is exactly what Steve didn’t want. Bucky’s moving a little closer, and Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he does, too. Leans in closes his eyes, hopes that maybe Bucky will make a move, finally. 

“Sputnik,” Bucky’s word ghosts over Steve’s lips, the last thing he hears before he blacks out.

~

When Steve wakes up, it’s early morning. He barely cracks his eyelids, and the light outside is blue, the sun is still rising. He must have had pneumonia again, he feels like he’s been asleep for weeks. He’s not wheezing though, thats good. Bucky’s arm is thrown over him, and Steve is content to sleep for a while longer, but Bucky starts to pull away.

Steve grabs his hand and holds him still. “C’mon Buck, it’s early yet. You don’t have to leave for the shop yet. I’m still cold, stay with me a while.” Bucky stops, but he’s tense. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you just say?” Bucky asks, sounding panicked. Why panicked? Steve has to be on the mend, Bucky usually is happy when he’s feeling well enough to talk easily.

“I said you don’t have to go yet.”

“Stevie?” Bucky’s scared, and that rouses Steve. He opens his eyes again, and shit. This is not his apartment in Brooklyn. This is not 1937. He’s flooded with reality - this is Washington DC, he lives here with Bucky. He had to move from his last place, after what happened with Fury… He rolls over in bed quickly to face Bucky.

“I remember!” he says, voice as shocked as the look on Bucky’s face.

“Everything?” Bucky asks. Steve nods vigorously, smiling with relief.

Bucky starts to slide away, trying to get out of bed. “I should call everyone, let them know-“

Shit, Steve knows why Bucky looks nervous, he remembers everything, and that includes the past few weeks, and last night, even though that’s hazy from the liquor. He told Bucky he loved him, and they were going to kiss. Bucky had said something, ‘Sputnik,’ and it had knocked him out. The shut down code. Why hadn’t they thought if it before? Did it bring his memory back?

He can’t think about it now, though, because Bucky is trying to get out of bed, and he can’t do this shit again, can’t go on pretending that there’s nothing between them because they’re both piss scared of what that means, or what might happen.

“No,” Steve growls, grabbing Bucky by the front of the shirt. He yanks him close and, before he can overthink it, before Bucky can pull away again, he presses their lips together. It’s chaste and Steve is terrified. He has no idea what he’s doing, this is only the fourth kiss of his life. He hates to admit Natasha was right, but he probably does need practice. Bucky is not kissing him back, so he pulls away just a little. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have done this, this isn’t what Bucky wants, this is what he wants. How could he be so stupid, just because Bucky said he wished Steve would have told him he loved him, doesn’t mean he loved him back.

Bucky surges forward and crushes their lips together. 

Oh.

Steve still doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he lets Bucky take the lead, lets him part his lips with his tongue and lick into his mouth. Steve returns the pressure, one hand cupping the back of Bucky’s head, fingers sliding into his hair. He feels simultaneously like he’s drowning and on fire. Bucky won’t stop kissing him, his stubble burning against Steve’s chin, but he’s not going to stop either, not when he’s waited so long for this and wants it this much.

Bucky breaks the kiss eventually, panting a little to catch his breath.

“How long?” Steve asks, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s.

“Mmm?” Bucky asks back. He seems a little dazed.

Steve can’t help but smile. “How long have you wanted to do that?”

“!935.”

“What?” Steve asks, incredulous. It’s loud, even to his own ears. 1935? That’s crazy, that’s-

“We were outside that dance hall, the girl you’d brought-“

“That you brought for me, more like-“

“-she’d just left with that tall fella who’d just kicked your ass for trying to make him act like a gentleman.”

“Diane.”

Bucky grins at him a little. “How do you always remember their names?”

“It’s surprising what you can learn about a person if you keep your tongue out of their throat for an evening.”

“So you’re saying I should keep my tongue out of your throat?”

“You already know everything about me, so…”

Bucky laughs then. “Smooth, Rogers. Anyway, my date had already, uh, gone home-“

“You had sex with her in the men’s room!”

Bucky tries to look a little embarrassed but just looks proud. “Yeah, well. If I had taken you in there back then we woulda gotten killed. So I had to settle.”

Steve had never imagined Bucky would want him like that, so he’d never really thought about what would have happened back then if they had been together. But Bucky must have, and he was right. If they had been found out, it’s very likely they might have been killed for it. Maybe getting put on ice for years wasn’t ideal, but waking up in a time that was a little safer, where they could actually be together…

“So because you that you couldn’t screw me in a filthy bathroom you realized you wanted me?”

Bucky shrugs. “Guess I always knew there was something about you, Stevie. It was just, that night… You were so beat up, and that girl had the gall to walk away from you, and I just… I wanted to show you that someone wanted you, that I wanted you, what you meant to me. But I was scared, thought you might push me away, think I was disgusting. Or if you didn’t, that I’d be putting you in danger. So I just… I ignored it and tried to get rid of it with any girl who would let me.”

“Or any guy?” For some reason, Bucky being with girls didn’t bother Steve as much as him being with other men.

“Later on, yeah. Sometimes, under HYDRA, on a mission…”

“Oh, I just never thought you were really interested in that while you were, you know. The Soldier.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I was a brainwashed assassin, not a goddamn robot. I still had thoughts, desires. Why does everyone think-? Anyway, on long missions, sometimes. I didn’t remember you then, but I always felt kind of… bad about it after?”

“So you were never going to tell me, huh?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you loved me. You were never gonna-“

“Hey, neither were you!” Bucky yells, but there’s no anger behind it, and he’s laughing anyway. “So, Steve… that conversation we were having last night…” Steve frowns, because he doesn’t know what Bucky is talking about. “That conversation… about whether or not you’d been with anyone…”

It comes flooding back now, had been mirky with the alcohol and probably a little because of whatever slowness of brain he was feeling from amnesia and the subsequent recovery. His stomach drops a little, because he now knows for sure that he is, in fact, the oldest, saddest virgin alive.

He hasn’t said anything, but can feel himself blushing, and Bucky reads him like he always has. “Shit.”

“I know, how fucking pathetic can you get? I get a pass for being frozen though, at least a little, so I think you need to account for-“

“That is the fucking hottest thing I have ever heard in my life.” Bucky is crowding against him, then pressing his lips into Steve’s neck.

He thinks perhaps Bucky has gone crazy, because being inexperienced is more embarrassing than anything else. Definitely not hot. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, you can’t have, because I just told you-“

“I used to imagine I’d get to… you know… deflower you, or whatever,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s skin.

Steve laughs, mostly out of surprise because Bucky is running his hand down Steve’s stomach. “Deflower? I’m not some high school girl, I - oh god,” he huffs. Bucky’s open palm is pressing down on his dick. He makes an embarrassing moaning sound when Bucky squeezes him.

“I did always want to, thought about how I’d be so gentle with you, but you’d hate it. I could just hear you telling me you weren’t made of glass, and to stop being so delicate, shit, you could take it. Fuck, I wanted to give it to you…” Bucky’s stroking him and Steve is trying to keep breathing and not come in his pants. Bucky stops suddenly and Steve opens his mouth to object, but Bucky’s moving to straddle him, leaning forward to grind his cock against Steve’s. 

Steve hisses and presses up, wants to kiss Bucky again, and Bucky is smiling so wide. “This is the happiest I’ve seen you in a while.”

Bucky shrugs casually while he does some impressive work with his hips that curl Steve’s toes. “I remember you, you remember me. We’re gay for each other. It’s kind of the best day of my life.”

Steve can’t hold back a goofy smile of his own, and Bucky leans down to press their lips together. His hands move, grabbing Steve’s and twining their fingers. Steve doesn’t want to stop kissing, or rubbing against Bucky, not ever, it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

Bucky’s phone rings from the bedside table, but they ignore it, letting it vibrate to the floor. “They can wait, shit, I don’t care…” Bucky says against Steve’s lips. Bucky pulls one hand away to run it up Steve’s side under his shirt, and Steve uses his free hand to grab Bucky’s ass, trying to get them impossibly closer.

When Steve’s phone rings, Steve thinks maybe they should see who it is, but Bucky’s whimpering a little at the friction and he can’t manage to even find out where his phone is. Bucky pulls back enough to remove his shirt and Steve reaches out to touch him, like he’s wanted to do for as long as he could remember. Bucky filled out so nice during basic, Steve rubbed himself raw in the shower that first month he was back, and now he’s rubbing himself raw against Bucky’s pelvis, and it’s incredibly awesome.

Bucky’s phone rings again, and Steve pulls away to raise his eyebrows at Bucky.

“Ugh, fine! This better be a life or death situation or I’m gonna kill someone, I swear…” Bucky moves just enough to get his hand to the floor, feeling around for his phone. “Hello?” he answers once he finally has it. His face falls immediately. “Shit, when?” Pause. “Why was he on his own anyway?”  
Pause. “Okay. I’m bringing Rogers. No, no. Memory back and everything. We’ll explain on the way, see you in ten.”

Fuck, Steve already knows, someone is in trouble, real trouble. He doesn’t even have a chance to ask Bucky because he starts talking a mile a minute the second he’s off the phone: “They got Stark, we have to go, Natasha is on the way. Get dressed.” Bucky’s off the bed and digging through Steve’s dresser frantically.

“Who?” Steve asks, trying to get his heart out of his throat. Tony is in trouble, they have to help, right now, have to fix it.

“HYDRA, he was at a base by himself and they got him-“

“Why would he do that? Go alone?”

Bucky glares at him for a second. “Gee, I don’t know. Why would anyone in their right mind do something so stupid?”

Steve shrinks back a little, cuz yeah, okay, point taken. He grabs his uniform out of the closet and starts to dress while Bucky gets their weapons in order. They rush out the door as soon as they can, to where Natasha’s car is waiting out front. Clint is in the passenger seat, expression grim.

“How bad is it?” Steve asks.

“Welcome back,” Clint says, then, “we have no idea. Guessing bad. Rhodey says the suit should protect him for a while, even if it’s not functioning. And it’s not. We’re meeting the rest on site.”

“Why did he go after them?” Bucky asks, and Steve hears the silent ‘alone’ at the end.

“Bruce says there was something in one of the files. A name, someone who was directly responsible.”

“For?” Steve prompts.

“The death of Howard and Maria Stark,” Natasha says.


End file.
